


Tirelessly Waiting For Tremors.

by Mitooshka



Series: Of Mongrels & Men. [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Hurt, Love, M/M, and how they change people, and we all run from something, in which falling in love is like an earthquake, small collection of moments, sudden kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 03:36:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4548780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mitooshka/pseuds/Mitooshka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'And I leave in my heart the darkness to remind me where it could have all gone wrong, and I'll keep waiting for you until I break apart. Tremors, echoes and vibrations of love.'</p><p>// Cullen Rutherford realizes that sometimes people don't want to save others when they, themselves need to be saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tirelessly Waiting For Tremors.

            If Bull made himself more obvious with the way his shoulders shook in laughter as the Commander picked himself up from the ground, the entirety of the army would realize that the lion man was nothing more than a mouse. In the small elf’s shadow, the Commander looked at him in just surprise, shock written on his face from being thrown clear off his feet.  
  
  
            Khalil Lavellan, Inquisitor of Thedas and Herald of Andraste brandished his dual-edged knives like shiny butterflies. His steps were light, careful as he moved towards Cullen.  
  
  
            “No trouble Commander.” He says curtly, flashing the sharpness of his teeth at him.  
  
  
            Cullen sputters whilst brushing off his breeches, heat flushing from the tips of his ears down to his toes at having the whole of the Inquisition witness the 5’6” elf bring him down.  
  
  
            “You know Curly, the elf has one hell of a talent of sweeping you off your feet.” Varric called out from where he is sitting beside Bull, a smiling splitting his face as he laughed along.  
  
  
            Cullen blushes more, his face now bright red and he isn’t sure it’s from the exertion of sparring. He watches Khalil step away from him and walk back to where Cassandra and Lelianna watch them, his hands twirling the blades with relative ease.  
  
  
            Khalil looks behind him once, eyes as dark as the obsidian that those blades are made from. Cullen curses under his breath and walks the other way, the tension between them so thick he could cut it.  
  
  
            _Not all lions have teeth. Every dog has their day._  
  


* * *

             Cullen swears he is demon sometimes, the way he moves like smoke and ashes through the crowds. He is too much, too little and not enough all at once.  
  
  
            He sees the way Solas feels Khalil’s chest for cuts and bruises, for tender muscles that had been ripped and strained from fighting. He watches the elf’s fingers as they trace lazy patterns on skin that is golden and sun-kissed and Cullen wonders if sins could walk and talk, would they look like him.  
  
  
            “He tirelessly waits for tremors, for something to sweep him off his feet. He is tired of standing so tall, rooted to the ground when it crumbles. Sometimes he wants to be the one to lay down.” Cole’s voice strikes his ear and Cullen very nearly drops the reports in his hand.  
  
  
            The Inquisitor and Solas’ head swivel to see him and Cullen must quickly catch himself before he looks like a lovestruck maiden. He keeps his hands clenched a little too hard, thankful for armored gauntlets protecting the whites of his knuckles.  
  
  
            “Commander…” Khalil murmurs, his face stony and there is a tiring ache in his eyes. Solas tuts a little and crushes some elf root.  
  
  
            “Inquisitor, I would advise you to give your body a break. If you receive more injuries, you may become more elf root than elf.”  
  
  
            Cullen watches Khalil watching Solas, notices the way his shoulders tense and then drop. __  
  
  
            _He is tirelessly waiting for tremors._  
  


* * *

  
             Varric tells stories of daring damsels and fierce fighters that worm their way into the hearts of his readers. Cullen sees the way Cassandra holds onto the hard-bound book for her life as she scurries away, her eyes shifty and her body language like that of a thief. He hears how Varric sometimes reads out those stories to Cole and Sera, how he emphasises the way the romantic charms the reluctant warrior into laying down their guard.  
  
  
            In the taverns, late at night Varric opens up his book and sets his glasses on the edge of his nose and crookedly smiles at the members of the Inquisition. Josephine with her chin in her hands and a gleam in her eye, Cassandra trying not to yearn for more information and even Iron Bull sitting with a tankard of ale and a hearty laugh at the saucy bits.  
  
  
            Cullen sits beside Cassandra, watches as Varric reads out the suspenseful part where the hero nearly gets stabbed and proclaims his dying love for the fearless pirate woman. He laughs when the pirate woman ends up saving the hero, ends up scrapping the idea that a hero must be armor clad and brutish.  
  
  
            Cullen watches as Khalil’s eyes, illuminated in the hearth’s light, stay focused on Varric and he tries to show less interest than he truly has. He tries to imagine what the dark elf thinks, what races through that head of his.  
  
  
            “She laid down her sword near the warrior’s feet and took his hand, she kissed the fingers and bellowed out, “let the world know that everyone needs to be saved every now and then, and the mark of a true hero is the kindness he lends to others.”  
  
  
            Cullen let’s his gaze drift back to the Inquisitor and sees that the elf had his head resting on his arms, his eyes half lidded and a strange hollowness to them.  
  
  
            Cullen fears that if he said Khalil’s name, it would echo in those orbs of his.  
  
  
             _'I'm sorry for the trouble I suppose'._  
  


* * *

  
  
            The first time Cullen sees Khalil partially nude is when he comes along for a requisition to the Emerald Graves.  
  
  
            The camp had been set and the day had turned to a cool sunset, the air still thick and warm but a hint of underlying mist had started to settle. As his companions settled around a fire for food and drink, he walked off to the stream that lay below the camp, his armor discarded for a simple tunic and breeches, only a short sword at his side in case something were to happen.  
  
  
            Cullen keeps his guard up for enemies but misses the presence of another being entirely when he gets to the stream.  
  
  
            It wasn’t a particularly large stream, not deep either but it was covered and sheltered by tall rocks with water tumbling from them. The oncoming husk of the evening shrouded them in blazing light and Cullen stood in sudden shock at the elf bathing in the clear, cool water of it. His back, a map of scars and fresh bruises and old elvish tattoos that it makes his breath catch in his throat.  
  
  
            Khalil stops moving and he turns his head to look at the Commander, standing by the water’s edge with his mouth in a firm, thin line.  
  
  
            “Commander? Something wrong?” Khalil questions slowly, turning his body just so that Cullen can see the rigid and taut lines of muscle, the strong cords of his arms from wielding daggers all day, the way his shoulders tense at the sudden intrusion of company.  
  
  
            “I-I…Inquisitor, I apologize for, erm, disturbing you.” Cullen clears his throat, swallows and starts to turn away.  
  
  
            “Leaving so soon?” Khalil’s voice is a thick sound in the delicate surroundings, it reminds Cullen more of harsh landscape, drying heat and cracked stones than of ferns and trees and green, green, green.  
  
  
            “I wasn’t- I should be heading back to camp, I will- I will wait for you to finish near the edge of it.” Cullen tries to point towards the camp but the things in his hands, his fresh clothing, keep him from doing so elegantly.  
  
  
            “Could join me, the water is just as nice with two people in it.” Cullen bites the inside of his cheek, anything to keep himself from thinking about the thought. His brown eyes flicker to where the elf is standing, waist high in the water, soaking wet and clearing shivering a little.  
  
  
            “I’m sorry Inquisitor, whe-whenever you’re done.” And Cullen turns and starts to walk back to camp.  
  
  
            When he turns back seconds later, Khalil is gone beneath the surface of the water and Cullen let’s himself kick a rock.  
  
  
            “Fuck.”  
  
_His word is an echo._  
  


* * *

__  
  
            The Commander sometimes wonders how much fear those the Inquisitor judges, truly have. If whether they see the dark shadow draped over the whole of the throne, they think death and misery and feel the bile rise in their throats. He wonders if they question their actions when those blacker than black eyes pierce into the very hollows of a person’s soul and scrutinize every pieces of them.  
  
  
            He questions how much sanity a person can have when faced down with the Shadow of Skyhold, the demon that roams the night and the thief in the darkness.  
  
  
            And yet when the judgement is done, the criminal put away and the people disperse, Cullen sees a different sort of shadow walking from the throne. He sees a breath of wind instead of the storm that others see and he sees the exhaustion and uncertainty in Khalil’s vision.  
  
  
            “I take it things went smoothly.” Cullen says to the Inquisitor as he moves past him and Khalil stops, turning his head so he can face the Commander. He nods.  
  
  
            “As smoothly as I can make things go, I’m not…fuck, I’m not good at this.” Khalil hisses the ending of the sentence, his fists clench.  
  
  
            “You do the best you can, no one can ask more of you.” Cullen nods, trying to offer words of sympathy.  
  
  
            “But they do ask, Commander, everyone asks so much and I don’t- never mind, don’t you have reports to do?” The dark haired male growls out and looks at him, stormy eyes meeting his.  
  
  
            “I- Yes, I suppose I do. Have a good evening, Inquisitor.” Cullen bows a little and starts to step away from Khalil, notices the elf not moving and only staring at his feet before swearing and angrily stomping away.  
  
  
            Cullen watches his retreating back and remembers something his sister once said about dogs, and how even if they are kicked and beaten they always somehow end up coming back to those they love. So many compare the Inquisitor to a mongrel; his appearance, breathy voice and feral temper all uphold their opinion but Cullen wonders, what made him stop returning to kindness.  
  
  
            _What made him start running?_  
  
  


* * *

__  
  
  
            He tries to explain the plan for Adament to the Inquisitor, his hands tracing the lines on the map and softly describing the course of attack. He tries and he fails as he glimpses Khalil gritting his teeth and clenching his fists into balls, as if trying to prevent himself from punching something.

  
  
            After a moment, when Cullen realizes that no matter how much explaining he does, it won’t sink in he questions the elf, “something wrong, Inquisitor?”  
  
  
            “What? Nothing, go on.” Khalil snaps.  
  
  
            “Uhm, well…alright, where was I…I think I was-“  
  
             
            “-somewhere here-“  
  
  
            “-I think we were right about, somewhere near the fortress-“  
  
  
            Both try to point to various places on the map, their hands brush past each other and Khalil practically jumps back as if his hand is scalded.  
  
  
            “Are you well, Inquisitor? Should I call Solas or perhaps Leliana-“  
  
  
            “-stop it’s okay, I’m fine-“  
  
  
            “-honestly you don’t look so-“  
  
  
            “I love you.”  
  
  
            Cullen chokes on the words he was planning to say, they stumble and fall in his mouth and it turns dry. He blinks his eyes rapidly, as if trying to clear them from an unwanted image, a thought in his head.  
  
  
            “P-Pardon me Inquisitor…did you just…” He starts but Khalil snarls, his eyes blazing as he slams his hands down onto Cullen’s desk.

  
            He stays there, not speaking with just his mouth parted and his chest heaving as he looks at Cullen. He is smaller, and suddenly Cullen is aware of the height difference between them and how all of a sudden, the Inquisitor looks much more feral than any time before. Khalil’s eyes are glimmering like jewels and his nails were digging into the map.  
  
  
            Both stand there, locked in an intense gaze until Khalil reaches across the desk and grasps at Cullen’s furred shoulder piece and presses his lips to the Commander’s. He is shocked at the feel of the elf’s shaky fingers and the way there is a low whine threatening to erupt from Khalil’s throat as Cullen braces himself against the desk, one hand holding his leaning body up. The other hand brushes instinctively against Khalil’s cheek.  
  
  
            They break apart and Khalil is searching for…something in the Commander and all Cullen can focus on is the tender blush spreading across his cheeks and the way his fingers still twitch in the fur by his neck. Cullen is vaguely aware of him moving around the desk in his office, of picking the Inquisitor up and sitting him on the desk as he moves in.  
  
  
            “Inquisitor…”  
  
  
            “I love you.” Khalil breathes and his voice is uncertain, fearful as he looks up at him with scared eyes. Cullen has never seen such a look in his eyes and for a moment he is unsure this is the same being that had taken down a giant or fought hordes of red Templars or survived an Archdemon.  
  
  
            The words tumble out before he can stop them, “I love you too.”  
  
  
            Khalil smiles and Cullen’s world completely shatters from the inside out as he sees the softness grace the hard lines of the elf’s face. He brings their faces together and they stay completely still, one hand on Khalil’s cheek and the other on his waist. Khalil’s hands on either side of Cullen’s head, holding him in place.  
  
  
                        “For once I can sweep you off your feet…” Cullen mumbles, the thought crossing his mind.  
  
  
            Khalil’s body shivers.  
  
  
              _Not shivers, t_ _remors._  
  
             
  
            

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I really loved the idea of Cullen being able to have a bisexual romance and in all honesty, it was one the biggest things I hate that they changed in the final game. However, this of course didn't stop me from writing a character who is absolutely, head over heels in love with Cullen and neither of them knows why.


End file.
